


Happened So Fast

by kiwikero



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Conventions, Cosplay, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Harry in Panties, Innocent Harry, Lace Panties, M/M, Past Drug Use, Red-Haired Louis Tomlinson, Soulmates, Underage Harry, a tiny bit of angst, banana custard, but he's above the age of consent in the UK, not much I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:19:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwikero/pseuds/kiwikero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Louis has a fling with the beautiful boy he meets at an anime convention, he never expects to see him again. That is, of course, until he runs into Harry in the cafeteria at school the next day. </p><p>Or,</p><p>The one where Zayn drags Louis to a convention and Harry ends up covered in banana custard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happened So Fast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishiphappy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishiphappy/gifts).



> When I started writing this, I meant for it to be short and sweet. Never did I imagine it would end up being this long! I have so many people to thank! Namely my beta, Sarah, for being a cheerleader and wonderful editor; Vikki for teaching me everything I needed to know about sixth form; and Becky, C, Carlos, Lexy, and Addy for being so supportive when I was having a hard time finishing. 
> 
> I purposely didn't specify which school they go to, so if I got something wrong please just assume it's a quirky school.
> 
> Also, while the hotel the convention is set at is real, the convention itself is made up. I have no idea what conventions are like in the UK. Just roll with it. ^_^ Also, I learned that there's no such thing as pudding cups in the UK. The more you know.
> 
> With all that being said, I want to reiterate that **Harry is underage in this fic.** He is above the age of consent in England, but if that makes you uncomfortable then please don't read!  <333
> 
> Also, I have been given my very first fanart!! Thanks so much, Jackson! Here's [Harry](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-iOIovoIm-k8/VSSPvKruHkI/AAAAAAAABKM/G34ceiHb6e4/w630-h606-no/Haruhi%2BHaz.jpg) and [Louis](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-sIq2ZNgOhFE/VSSPvavyBqI/AAAAAAAABKQ/6_Ea6iHH4iI/w405-h497-no/Rin%2BLou.jpg).

Of all the ways Louis could be spending his last weekend of winter hols, this isn’t exactly what he’d pictured. The second term of his final year before university is starting soon—in two days, actually—and Louis should be having as much fun as he possibly can before settling back into the dull routine of school work. Honestly, at the moment, school work sounds more exciting than the prospect of 48 hours surrounded by anime fanatics.

He loves Zayn, he really and truly does, but at the moment Louis wants to strangle him.

The Best Western Premiere in Doncaster is the yearly host to one of Yorkshire’s most popular anime conventions, DonnyCon. Zayn has been wanting to go for as long as Louis can remember, and finally managed to save enough money for passes. He offered to pay Louis’ admission to guarantee himself some company, and no one can deny Zayn when he turns on the charm.

“I can’t believe I let you drag me to this,” he grumbles, affixing his ID badge to the hem of his shirt. At least Zayn hadn’t wanted him to dress as anything _too_ ridiculous. A black polo with pink collar and white trousers, while a little too formal for Louis’ taste, are loads more sedate than some of the other costumes he sees in the crowd.

Zayn clips his badge to the blue and white jacket he’s wearing, unzipped to reveal a bright yellow shirt underneath. “Just because you think you’re too cool to watch anime doesn’t mean you won’t have a good time, Lou,” Zayn says, unbothered by Louis’ whining. He reaches out to ruffle Louis’ artificially red hair. “Besides, with your hair that colour, you make the perfect Rin to my Haru.” Louis has never watched Free!, but based on a Google image search he has to admit that they aren’t doing too bad at representing the characters Zayn chose for them.

Rolling his eyes, Louis bats Zayn’s hand away. “Whatever. Lead the way, then.” With a laugh, Zayn loops his arm through Louis’ and tows him through the crowd of cosplayers.

“What should we hit first?” Zayn asks, looking around the crowded lobby. All around them people are posing for pictures, chatting excitedly while throwing in random Japanese words and phrases, and queueing up for the panels they want to attend.

Louis unfolds the convention schedule he’d been handed at reception. DonnyCon spans two days, Saturday and Sunday, and the list of events for each day is packed with words he doesn’t understand and names of actors he’s never heard of before. “Erm… There’s one called Digimon vs. Pokemon in half an hour,” Louis says, running a slender finger down the page. He at least knows a little about Pokemon from the video games.

Zayn scoffs, plucking the schedule from Louis’ hands. “Please, as if that’s even a debate. Of course Pokemon is better.” His bright brown eyes flick back and forth across the page. “Ooh, Bad Fanfiction Theatre. That sounds brilliant.” He checks the time on his mobile. “It’s not for another hour. Let’s go check out the dealers room.”

“Dealers room?” Louis asks, eyebrows shooting up.

“Not drugs, Louis. Merchandise,” Zayn explains patiently, giving Louis’ shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Come on, then, we’ve only got two days!”

As he’s hauled through the dense crowd, Louis sighs. _Only two days, my arse._

***

By lunchtime, Louis has to admit that he’s not having a terrible time.

The panels have been amusing, with the dramatic readings of terrible fanfiction his favourite by far. They’ve also been complimented on their costumes several times, a few people even asking to take photos of them. “You guys make such a cute couple!” A girl dressed as a Sailor Scout gushes after she snaps a picture with her phone.

“Hear, that, Louis? We’re a cute couple,” Zayn says with a cheesy grin, slinging an arm over Louis’ shoulders and pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. There are a few ‘awww’s from the con-goers nearby.

Louis wipes off his cheek, a look of faux-disgust painted on his features. “You’re incorrigible. I’m never going anywhere with you ever again.”

Laughing, Zayn pulls out the schedule once more. “That’s a lie and you know it. Listen, I only have an hour to submit my entry for the art contest, think you can keep yourself occupied for a bit?”

Doing his best to look forlorn, Louis fixes Zayn with his most pitiful puppy-eyed frown. “I suppose, oh love of my life. I’ll just wander around and purposely walk through people’s photos. Should be a laugh.”

“And I’m the incorrigible one, right,” Zayn says, voice tinged with amusement. “I’ll hurry back. Just text if you need me, yeah?”

Louis gives his best friend a little shove. “I’ll be fine, Mum. Go submit your art and then we can buy beer with the prize money when you kick everyone’s arse.” Still laughing, Zayn turns and disappears into the throng of costumed attendees.

Surely Louis is capable of finding something to do. There’s no shortage of interesting people, and they had only hit about half the dealers room on the first pass. _Oh, and the costume contest is starting soon, that might be fun to watch,_ he muses, checking the location on the schedule. Meeting Room 3.

As he sets off toward the room where the contest will be held, someone across the way catches his eye. It’s a girl, in Japanese schoolgirl uniform like so many other attendees, but something about her makes Louis stop dead in his tracks.

She has a realistic dark, wavy brown wig, locks kept in place by a goldenrod ribbon, but still falling over her large eyes. Her face is pale, with round, cherubic cheeks and full, pink lips. She might be the most attractive girl Louis has ever seen, which catches him completely off guard. It’s been years since he was last attracted to a girl. Objectively, he can appreciate beauty in members of the opposite sex, but that’s different. As he watches her take a bite of the stick of Pocky in her hand, tongue dipping out to taste it before her lips close around the treat, he feels a throb in his groin that makes his mouth go suddenly dry. _What is the matter with me?_

By the time he pulls himself together, the girl and her Pocky and whatever dark magic she possesses have disappeared into the crowd. At once disappointed and relieved, Louis takes a calming breath and continues on his way to Meeting Room 3.

***

The costume contest is a great choice of entertainment. Most of the skits are hilarious, and some of the costumes are damn impressive. The winner is a duo dressed as the Elric brothers from Fullmetal Alchemist, complete with a detailed automail arm and suit of armour.

The whole show lasts just under an hour, but afterwards Louis still hasn't heard from Zayn. His bladder, however, is ready to burst from the unhealthy amount of Dr Pepper he’s consumed throughout the day.

Finding a bathroom is no easy task, but finally Louis stumbles across one down a corridor leading to the bank of lifts. He pushes the door open and immediately claps a hand over his eyes, backing straight out the way he came.

He glances at the sign on the door, double-checking that he’s in the right place. Sure enough, there is an unmistakably male stick figure outlined on the brown background. _Huh._

He cautiously pushes the door open once more, stepping inside and finding himself behind the brunette girl from earlier. She’s not paying any attention to him, busy adjusting her hair in front of the mirror.

"Hi," Louis says, voice loud and echoing in the small bathroom.

The girl whips around at the sound, eyes wide and mouth forming a little 'o' of surprise.

"I think you might be in the wrong toilet,” Louis continues.

"Oops," the girl says, in a voice far deeper than Louis had been expecting. Like, two octaves deeper. "I forget that I'm dressed up sometimes. I'm in the right place, promise. I'm Harry. Harry Styles." Harry is grinning, a dimple forming in his flushed cheek.

 _Well, that explains the attraction,_ Louis reasons. "Louis Tomlinson. Who are you supposed to be, anyway?"

The brunet’s smile sags. “Oh. You really can’t tell?” he asks, looking crestfallen. “I thought I did a pretty decent job, but…”

Crap. Louis hasn’t meant to insult the lad’s costume. “No, I’m sure you’re spot on! I just don’t actually watch that much anime.” Louis rubs at the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I’m actually just here with a friend, he wanted me to dress up with him. I’m supposed to be—”

“Rin Matsuoka, from Free!, I know,” Harry interrupts, smiling once more. “You pull him off really well, nice job.” He gestures down at his blue and white uniform. “I’m Haruhi from The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya.”

Louis is about to compliment the brunet when a twinge in his abdomen reminds him of the reason he’s in here in the first place. “I hate to be rude, but do you mind if we finish this conversation outside of the toilets? I really need to have a wee,” he says sheepishly.

The boy just laughs, tossing his head back slightly in a way that sets his curls in motion. “Sure, I’ll give you some privacy. Meet you outside,” Harry says, and with a little wave he’s slipping out of the bathroom.

Finally alone, Louis takes a deep breath and steps over to the row of urinals. However he had expected this day to go, meeting the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen in his life wasn’t part of the plan.

When Louis’ finished in the loo, he finds the brunet boy leaning against the wall just outside, playing with his phone. When he sees Louis, Harry’s face breaks into a wide smile, pink lips parting to reveal straight, perfect teeth. _He must be wearing lip gloss,_ Louis thinks, because no way can lips naturally be that colour.

“So, do you want to hang out or something?” Harry asks, words tumbling out nervously. “I mean, I don’t know anyone here, and there’s this panel on Miyazaki films that I was looking forward to?” The statement comes out sounding like a question.

Louis has no idea who Miyazaki is, but spending more time with the intriguing stranger sounds like a great idea. There’s a small problem, however. “That sounds fun, Harry,” he says genuinely, “but my friend is probably looking for me, and I can’t just blow him off.”

Good lord, can this boy _pout._ The way he pooches out his lower lip, eyebrows drawing in as he exhales heavily, is enough to convince a mountain to move out of the way. “I understand,” he says in a small voice. “It was nice meeting you.” With that, he turns and dejectedly begins to shuffle away.

Sighing, Louis catches his arm as he goes. “Harry, wait.”

Harry stills at the touch, turning to meet Louis’ gaze with widened eyes. _This is the first time we’ve touched,_ Louis realizes, letting his hand linger a bit longer than is probably necessary. Harry’s arm is warm and firm under the flowy white sleeve of his costume, and Louis resists the temptation to trace his fingers along the muscles hidden just out of sight.

“Come with me to find Zayn. I’m sure he’ll appreciate having someone around who actually knows what the hell he’s talking about.”

The pout from moments before has vanished entirely, a dimple-producing grin left in its place. “Really? You don’t mind?”

Louis smiles at the genuine surprise in the Harry’s voice. “I’d really like it, actually,” he admits. And he means it. There’s just something about this curly-haired stranger that he can’t put his finger on, but it’s drawing Louis in like gravity. If he’s going to be stuck at the convention for the rest of the day, it might as well be with this enigmatic person.

***

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you,” Zayn cries as the pair rounds the corner. His mouth snaps shut when he notices that Louis isn’t alone, brandy-coloured eyes raking over the costumed boy at his best friend’s side.

Harry fidgets self-consciously under Zayn’s gaze, and Louis understands. If he didn’t know the raven-haired boy, it would be easy to be intimidated by his smoldering eyes and cheekbones that could cut glass. Placing a comforting hand on the small of Harry’s back (and absolutely not relishing the easy way he leans into the touch), Louis urges Harry closer to Zayn.

“Zayn, this is Harry. I met him in the toilets.”

If Zayn is surprised by Louis referring to the skirt-clad newcomer by a masculine name, he takes it beautifully in stride. Arching an eyebrow as he glances over Harry’s attire, the corner of Zayn’s mouth lifts in a smile. “Which toilet?”

Louis laughs. “I was a bit confused at first. It’s not every day you step into the loo and run into Har… Harahu…” _Damn, who is Harry supposed to be again?_ He can’t handle seeing disappointment cross Harry’s face a second time.

“Haruhi Suzumiya, right?” Zayn cuts in, saving the day. _Lovely, lovely Zayn._ “You look great, actually. Spot on.”

Harry beams in reply, swaying back and forth so that his skirt fans out around him. “Really? Thank you,” he says, cheeks tinged with pink. “So do you. You make a really fit Haru.” He stills, mouth agape, as he glances between Zayn and Louis. “Oh, shit, that was really forward, wasn’t it? And in front of your boyfriend, too.”

There’s a beat of silence as Louis and Zayn catch each other’s gaze before bursting into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Harry demands, hands on hips and cheeks flushing even more.

Louis clutches at his sides, struggling to fit his words between giggles. Zayn’s no better off, snickering into his hand and shaking his head wildly back and forth. “We’re not boyfriends!” Louis manages eventually, wiping at his streaming eyes.

Finally recovering, Zayn adds, “There’s no way I’d ever date Louis, not in a million years. He’s like my brother.”

Confusion twists Harry’s features before fading to something akin to... relief? _Huh._ “Oh, I just assumed, since you dressed as a popular pairing…”

Louis shakes his head, red fringe brushing his forehead. “No, just friends, promise,” he says, giving Harry his most radiant smile.

Harry smiles back, seeming sufficiently dazzled.

Satisfied, Louis snakes an arm around Zayn’s waist. “You don’t mind if Harry tags along with us, do you? He came here by himself, poor lad.”

“Yeah, cool. As long as I get to pick the panels.” Zayn says, fixing Harry with a stern look.

Harry holds up his hands in mock-surrender. “Absolutely. I’ll just be happy to have some company.”

***

As it turns out, Zayn drags them to the same Miyazaki panel that Harry had been so keen on attending. The two chat about various films with bizarre titles (Louis thinks he catches a few words he understands, like ‘neighbor’ and ‘princess,’ mixed in with the strange names) the entire time they stand in the queue. Now and then Louis nods in agreement, trying to pretend he’s following along.

It’s nice that Harry keeps brushing his hand against Louis’, crowding into Louis’ personal space, meeting Louis’ eyes as he chews at his full lower lip. Louis isn’t sure what a Harry Styles is made of, but it’s clearly addicting and should probably be illegal. It’s barely been an hour, and already he’s completely entranced.

_Fucked, Louis. Fucked is the word you’re looking for._

And that’s how he spends an entire ninety-minute panel covertly watching Harry instead of the presenter, memorizing every detail of the curly-haired inamorato sat next to him. Everything about his new friend—from the sweep of Harry’s eyelashes to the dimple carved into his cheek to the jawline that appears to have been hewn from marble—is enchanting, and Louis can’t help but wonder how those plump pink lips would taste.

“Louis? Panel’s over,” Zayn’s voice says from his other side, heedlessly cutting through his fantasy of snogging Harry right there in the middle of the room.

Sighing as the prurient scene fades away, replaced by reality, Louis hauls himself out of his seat. Harry does the same next to him, stretching his arms up over his head. The action causes the hem of his top to ride up, revealing a taut, creamy expanse of belly underneath. Louis’ mouth might water just a bit.

“That was the last one of the day, wasn’t it?” Harry checks, dropping his arms, fabric covering his stomach once more.

Zayn pulls the folded schedule out of his pocket, smoothing the creases as he reads over the Day 1 page. “Yeah, there are a couple social events going on tonight, but I think I’m good for the day, anyway.”

That’s something Louis loves about Zayn’s personality. He likes to come to events like this, surround himself with people with common interests, but never seems to actually want to interact with them. Just being in a shared space is enough for Zayn, preferring to stick around people he’s already comfortable with. The intricacies of being a social introvert.

“I guess this is where we say goodbye, then,” Louis says sadly, once they’ve left the meeting room and are leaning against the hideously papered hallway wall. “We live in town. Are you staying here?” He asks Harry.

Harry’s eyes are downcast, his hands fiddling with the ID badge hanging on a lanyard around his neck. “Yeah,” he says, disappointment evident in his voice.

Zayn glances between the downtrodden brunet and his forlorn best friend, an eyebrow quirked high on his forehead. “Hey, why don’t you give Louis your number? We can text you when we get here tomorrow and meet up again.”

Louis is busy making a list of all the things he’s going to buy for Zayn when Harry responds. “That would be great! I’m definitely regretting coming here by myself, but I’m so happy I met you guys,” he says to both of them, but his eyes fall on Louis and it feels significant.

Louis can’t help the little shiver that runs through his body. _Calm down, Tommo, it’s just one more day with the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. No big deal._ He tries to control the slight tremor in his hand as he trades phones with Harry. Their fingers brush and Louis yelps as he nearly drops both mobiles, the shock of the contact leaving his skin tingling. God, what is _with_ him?

Once each boy has his own phone back, Louis’ feeling somehow heavier in his pocket with the weight of Harry’s number, it’s time to say goodbye. Louis watches Zayn and Harry bump fists, curling his own hand to copy the gesture, when Harry suddenly pulls him into a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispers, warm breath ghosting against Louis’ temple. He feels a quick pressure there— _did he just kiss my forehead?_ —before Harry is pulling away, waving enthusiastically as he walks backward towards the bank of elevators. He backs straight into a plant stand, upsetting a fern in a blue and white patterned vase. Flushing crimson, Harry manages to catch the plant before it hits the ground, placing it delicately back on the stand before speed walking out of sight.

Laughing, Zayn slings an arm around Louis’ neck. “All right, Lover Boy, enough excitement for one day. Let’s go home.”

 _It really was an interesting day,_ Louis thinks later as he carefully removes his costume, folding each piece since Zayn insists they dress the same tomorrow. Sure, he had known he wouldn’t have as much fun at the con as Zayn would, but then again he never counted on meeting Harry Styles.

He slips into bed once he’s stripped down to his pants, savouring the feeling of the cool sheets against his flushed skin. He can’t get the image of Harry out of his mind. His face, his hair, that tantalizing strip of flesh he’d glimpsed… He lets out a low moan as he slips a hand into his boxers, wrapping his fingers around his growing erection. He pulls himself off thinking about how Harry’s long legs had looked in those black knee high socks, how much he wanted to slide a hand beneath the boy’s skirt, and—

He comes with muffled shout, pressing his free hand over his mouth to avoid waking his sleeping family. Wiping his sticky hand on his pants, he tugs the soiled boxers off before tossing them somewhere in the vicinity of his laundry basket. Still breathing heavily as he comes down from his climax, Louis rolls onto his side and wraps himself around one of the spare pillows in his bed. He never thought he’d see the day when he was looking forward to going back to an anime convention.

***

They’ve barely stepped into the hotel for the second day of the convention when Louis fires off a text to Harry.

_we just got here ! where are you?_

“Can’t even wait a full minute, can you?” Zayn asks with an amused shake of his head. “You’ve got it bad, mate.”

Louis frowns at his phone, willing it to vibrate as he flips off Zayn with his other hand. “Shut up. No I haven’t.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

Stuffing the uncooperative device into his pocket, Louis shoots Zayn a murderous glare. “First off, I just met him, and secondly, he’s not even from here! He could live hours away for all I know!” And it’s true. In all the time they spent together yesterday, Louis never once asked Harry where he’s from. Far enough away he couldn’t go home to sleep, at least, since Harry has a room at the hotel.

There’s a glint in Zayn’s eyes that Louis isn’t sure he likes the looks of. “Exactly, you may never see each other again.” He shrugs carelessly, releasing Louis from his gaze to check his own mobile. “Make the most of it, is all I’m saying.”

And fuck, Zayn’s right, not that Louis is going to tell him that. He’s been so wrapped up in the idea of Harry, in the details, that he never stopped to think it was a possibility. He can spend the rest of the day snogging Harry Styles and never see him ever again. There are no consequences whatsoever.

 _But what if you want to see him again?_ A niggling voice in the back of Louis’ mind reminds him. Louis pushes it away. He isn’t even sure if Harry will be on board for a quick romp with a practical stranger. He certainly can’t afford to make that kind of assumption, let alone think further ahead than today.

“Louis! Zayn!” A familiar voice rings out from across the room, and Louis glances around until he catches sight of the source. He doesn’t even try to stop his mouth from falling open.

There, next to a row of vending machines, is Harry. He’s dressed once again as the same character, judging by the familiar goldenrod ribbon threaded through his mess of curls, but he’s in a different outfit today. A different and fucking _sexy_ outfit.

“Damn,” Louis hears Zayn mutter under his breath, and he has to agree.

Harry’s wearing a collared halter top that leaves his midriff exposed. The fabric is white with pale blue, a large red jewel adorning his chest. The cap sleeves aren’t attached to the top, sitting just off Harry’s shoulders, and there’s a gap below the hem to long white gloves which perfectly highlights the muscles of his biceps visible in between. Harry starts walking toward them then, the blue fabric of his skirt swishing around pale, solid thighs. It’s actually two skirts, Louis thinks, the longer layer on top parted to reveal a short, tight miniskirt underneath. The ensemble is completed by a pair of thigh-high brown boots, each one festooned with a jaunty red bow.

Louis knows he’s staring, but _fuck,_ he can’t help it. He doesn’t even notice when Zayn reaches over and gently pushes his jaw closed. If Harry looked good in the school girl getup, he looks _bloody hot_ in… whatever the hell this outfit is.

“Hey,” Harry says once he reaches them. He must notice that neither pair of eyes has left his body, let alone blinked, so he gives a little twirl. The back of the halter top exposes Harry’s shoulder blades, and a whole slew of silent curses runs through Louis’ mind. “What do you think?” Harry asks shyly.

Zayn, rightly sensing that Louis is currently incapable of coherent speech, pipes up. “Looks great, man. Spot on,” he says appreciatively, apparently recognizing the costume. He gives Louis a sideways glance, digging an elbow into his ribs. “Right, Lou?”

Blinking a few times and silently willing saliva to return to his desert of a mouth, Louis nods. “Yeah,” he says, voice coming out in a near croak. He clears his throat and tries again, ignoring the coy smile twisting Harry’s lips. “Spot on. Who are you again?”

Zayn rolls his eyes at Louis’ ignorance, but Harry just giggles into a gloved hand. “I’m still Haruhi Suzumiya. This is an outfit from the PS2 game.” He places his hands on his hips, thumbs tucked into the brown belt sitting just below his belly button. “I was pretty nervous about wearing it, to be honest.”

“No! You look amazing,” Louis cries, a tad more forceful than is probably necessary, while Zayn watches the exchange with a knowing expression. “Like, you pull that outfit off really well. Better than anyone else here could.” _I’d like to try pulling it off,_ Louis thinks to himself, resolutely not staring at the way Harry’s thumbs are lifting the fabric away from his hips, exposing a bit of his v-line.

Harry blushes at the praise, pulling his hands away from his waist and clasping them in front of his peculiarly flat crotch. “Thanks,” Harry says, the flush of his cheeks only accentuating the raspberry colour of his lips.

Zayn is right. Louis is so fucked.

***

It seems Zayn and Louis aren’t the only ones impressed by Harry’s costume. All morning long, it feels like someone stops him for a photo every few minutes, the most recent being a giggling young woman groping Harry’s fake breasts for the camera. Louis briefly wonders what they’re made of, and fights back the irrational surge of jealousy that washes over him. If anyone is going to grab Harry’s tits, it should be Louis.

Harry peels himself away from the woman and her group of friends, adjusting his chest as he rejoins Louis and Zayn. “That was… weird,” he says, smoothing out the fabric of the halter top.

Louis doesn’t mean to stare at Harry’s chest, but he can’t help following the long, nimble fingers as they tug the fabric back into place. “Yeah, weird,” he murmurs in agreement.

If Harry notices where Louis’ eyes have landed, he doesn’t seem to mind. “And I’m only dressed as a girl. Imagine the harassment people with actual breasts have to go through at cons like these.” He shakes his head disapprovingly. “A person should be able to showcase their body without being objectified.” He gives his breasts one more adjustment. “All people. No one deserves to be treated that way.”

Zayn is blinking at Harry, seemingly startled by the sudden impassioned speech from the brunet. “And on that note, I’m going out for a smoke. Anyone want to join me?” He locks eyes with Louis.

Louis wants to, he really does, but he wants alone time with Harry even more. He’s been meaning to quit anyway, but cigarettes have become somewhat of a crutch after the other bad habits he’s gotten out of. Of all his addictions over the years, smoking is certainly the tamest.

“I’m okay, thanks. You go ahead,” Louis tells Zayn, the other man’s almond-shaped eyes widening in bewilderment.

He waits for a few ticks, as if he expects Louis to change his mind, before lifting his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. “Suit yourself. Back in a mo’.” Casting Louis one last, lingering glance, Zayn turns and strides toward the exit leading to the courtyard, already pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighter.

Finally alone, Louis turns to face the brunet. Harry’s twisting back and forth where he stands, looking every bit like an excited toddler. “Just us,” Louis says, grinning at the other boy. “What shall we do with ourselves?”

Arm looped through one of Louis’, Harry begins to pull him toward the game room. “Let’s play DDR!”

Louis allows himself to be towed through the crowd. “DDR?” he asks faintly.

“Dance Dance Revolution,” Harry explains patiently, stopping once they reach the queue for one of the arcade games. Louis knows what DDR is, he’s not completely clueless, but he’s certainly never played it. All of his preferred games are played sitting down, thanks ever so much.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Louis says, watching the line inch forward as con-goers take their turns. The current player, a man in some kind of ninja costume, is a spectacular dancer, even using the bars along the back of the dance pad to do tricks. Louis knows exactly what’s going to happen when he gets up there: He’s going to fall flat on his face.

Harry sticks out his lower lip. “Come on, it’ll be fun! I’m rubbish at it, I promise, but it’s always a laugh.” He reaches down and twines his fingers with Louis’, giving a little squeeze. “I’ll even go first so you can make fun of me.”

Swallowing hard, Louis looks down to where his and Harry’s hands are joined. The fabric of Harry’s glove keeps them from being skin-to-skin, but the intimate gesture is enough to have Louis’ stomach doing somersaults. He can’t help but feel a little guilty once he remembers what that hand was doing the night before, salacious images of the boy in front of him playing out in his mind.

“Okay,” he says reluctantly, giving Harry’s hand an answering squeeze. Satisfied, Harry lets his hand slip from Louis’ grasp but still stands close enough that their arms are brushing.

Up ahead, the dancing ninja has finished his turn to a round of applause as a teenage girl takes a spot at the game. Her turn is much shorter, missing more steps than she hits, but she seems to be having fun anyway. Halfway through the song, she gives up and starts inventing her own moves, while the people watching nearby laugh and clap along with the beat of the music. She gives an exaggerated bow before stepping off of the platform, giggling.

The line is moving far faster than Louis would like, and before he knows it Harry is clamboring onto the platform. He scrolls through a list of available songs before he finds one he likes, eyes lighting up as when makes his selection. The music starts as Harry aims a grin over his shoulder at Louis, adding a saucy little wink that sends a thrill up Louis’ spine.

The song is quirky and upbeat, much like the boy dancing to it. And Harry isn’t exactly bad, per se, but he isn’t terribly good, either. He keeps tripping over his boots and missing the arrows he’s supposed to be stepping on. It doesn’t seem to get him down, however, as he belts out the lyrics along with the female singer.

“Ai-yai-yai, I’m your little butterfly! Green, black, and blue make the colors in the sky!” Harry crows, flinging his arms around him as he dances, muscles shifting beneath the bare skin of his back. He looks, well, ridiculous, but the gathered crowd seems to love it, cheering him on as he performs.

Harry’s about halfway through the song when he gets a little carried away, attempting a twirl that sends him right off the edge of the platform. He reaches for the bars but it’s too late, he’s already falling. Louis rushes forward to catch the boy, both letting out a soft _oomph_ as Harry’s chest collides with his own. The crowd, having stilled when Harry fell, lets out another cheer at Louis’ valiant rescue.

“You caught me,” Harry says in a daze, making no motion to pull himself out of Louis arms. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, little butterfly,” Louis replies with a smirk, echoing the lyrics Harry had been singing moments before.

The moniker makes Harry’s face flush prettily as he finally begins to pull away. When he straightens up, his green eyes fly open as he presses his hand to his chest, letting out a groan. “Oh, no.”

Afraid that Harry has somehow injured himself in the fall (even though it the platform is only centimetres off the floor), Louis places a hand on Harry’s shoulder and takes a step closer.

“Harry? What’s the matter?” he asks with apparent concern.

Harry heaves a sigh, letting his shoulders sag before he meets Louis’ worried gaze with a defeated smile. “Popped my tits.”

And, oh, Louis sees it now, the stain from whatever had been filling Harry’s crafted bosom spreading across the pale material of his costume. Something off-white and creamy is starting to run down Harry’s exposed belly. It looks like—well, Louis isn’t going to let his mind go there.

Until Harry removes a glove and runs a finger through the sticky trail before popping it into his mouth.

Louis sputters, eyes nearly bulging out of his head at the indecent way Harry sucks the digit clean. Harry, bless him, doesn’t seem to realize the effect he’s having on Louis, misinterpreting his reaction as disgust. “Don’t worry, it’s edible,” he says, voice brimming with laughter. “They were filled with banana custard.”

While Louis’ relieved that the mystery substance is custard, and edible, and not, well, _you know,_ it doesn’t erase the image seemingly burned into his brain. How easy it would be to picture something else between Harry’s plump lips, cheeks hollowing. Christ, he’s half-hard just thinking about it. Louis self-consciously folds his hands over the front of his trousers.

"Why _custard?"_

"'S got the most realistic texture," Harry replies, blissfully ignorant of Louis’ internal struggle. Harry heaves a sigh and clutches his chest, trying to keep any of the cream from dripping onto the floor. “Well, I guess I had better go change. Do you want to come along?”

The thought of following Harry to his hotel room while he changes nearly short-circuits Louis’ brain. He nods mutely, unsure of what to say, and lets Harry lead the way out of the crowded game room.

The ride in the lift to the third floor is the most agonizing few minutes of Louis’ life. He’s stood next to a beautiful boy, literally dripping with sweet goo, and he’s about to be alone with him behind closed doors. In the vicinity of a bed. Louis thinks he could learn to love banana custard.

“This is so embarrassing,” Harry grumbles, still cradling his chest. “I should have just gone without fake boobs, but the top didn’t really look right without them, you know?”

Louis nods curtly, not daring to look at the custard-covered boy beside him. His hands are still clasped tightly over the growing bulge in his trousers. Maybe he can take care of it while Harry’s changing. Maybe Harry will help.

 _No no no no,_ Louis chants silently. He can’t afford to think like that. Harry invited him up for company, that’s all. Although, as the doors slide open and Harry heads down the hallway toward his room, Louis can’t help but hear Zayn’s voice in his head: _“Make the most of it, is all I’m saying.”_

Harry stops suddenly once he reaches his door, Louis crashing into him from behind. “Oops, sorry,” Louis yelps, springing away from other boy.

“No, my fault. Actually, do you think you could get the door for me?” Harry holds up his gooey hands, smiling helplessly. “I don’t want to make more of a mess than I already have.”

Louis is surprised there’s enough blood in his body outside of his dick to flush his cheeks. “Er, yeah, sure,” he replies, praying to whatever gods that exist that Harry’s key isn’t hidden anywhere _too_ intimate.

Gratitude flashes across Harry’s face. “Thanks. It’s tucked behind my ID badge.” He gestures toward the lanyard hanging around his neck, and Louis lets out a relieved breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Still, his hand trembles slightly as he reaches forward to grab hold of the plastic sleeve holding the badge, digging his fingers behind it to dig out the key card. He’s very careful not to brush against the smooth, defined stomach just millimetres from his hand as he extracts the key. Some of the custard has pooled in Harry’s belly button, but Louis absolutely does not think about sucking it out. Nope.

It takes a couple tries to get the lock to disengage, Louis trying to coordinate pulling the card out and turning the knob while Harry looks on, oozing unhelpfully. He finally manages it on the third try, pushing into the dark room and fumbling for a light switch.

A bulb pops on overhead, illuminating a double bed made up in white and cream. The covers are still rumpled from Harry sleeping there, one brown and ivory throw pillow on the floor next to the bed. There’s a sitting area across the room, a loveseat facing a flat-screen TV. It’s quite nice, actually. The curtains are drawn, blocking out the grey English sky, but the ceiling light bathes the room in a golden glow which makes the space feel warm and inviting.

Harry’s bum in that skirt looks a bit warm and inviting too.

The sticky boy makes a beeline for the bathroom, leaving the door open just a crack so that he can talk to Louis. “I’m going to take a quick shower, make yourself comfortable, all right?” he calls.

“Yeah, cool.” Louis’ eyes flit between the bed and sofa. It would be too familiar to curl up in the bed, even though it isn’t technically Harry’s, so he opts for the couch. Grabbing the remote, he finds something mindless to watch, mostly to cover the sounds of clothing being dropped on the tiled floor... the sound of the water running changing as it goes from hitting porcelain to skin... the way Harry’s singing to himself as he showers.

Louis’ jiggling his leg furiously, trying desperately not to picture the wet, naked boy in the next room. It’s not working well at all. Luckily, the sound of his text message tone steers his thoughts away from a lathered-up Harry for the moment. He swipes his thumb across the screen, opening up a new message from Zayn.

_where did u guys go?_

Louis groans audibly, knowing exactly how Zayn is going to react if he admits his location.

“Louis? You okay?” Harry calls over the sound of the spray.

 _Shit._ He hadn’t realized he’d been that loud. “All good! Just, er, yawned!” he calls back lamely. Shaking his head and cursing at himself under his breath, he bravely taps out a reply.

_In Harry’s room. He had a wardrobe malfunction. Be down shortly !_

His mobile goes off again seconds later, and Louis sighs as he reads the new text. Zayn hasn’t let him down.

_aha text me when ur done! make good choices! ;)_

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Louis mutters, tossing his phone to the other end of the couch. He glares at it where it lies, seemingly innocent, on the tan and crimson cushion.

And he knows Zayn means well, always has, but sometimes he’s a bit _too_ supportive, if that’s possible. Louis has known Zayn for years, but their friendship was strengthened when Louis removed a lot of destructive people from his life. Zayn had made the cut. He’s been there for Louis through everything—taking too many pills, getting high in the toilets at school, failing his A levels—and, more importantly, he’s stuck around. He was right by Louis’ side when he told his mother he needed help getting clean, and now, halfway through Louis’ second attempt at upper sixth, never fails to encourage him. Hell, if anything, Zayn just seems happy that he and his best friend are now in the same year at school.

Louis snaps back to the present when he hears the water shut off. Seconds later, the door to the ensuite swings open and Harry steps into the room, a towel slung haphazardly around his hips. It doesn’t look terribly secure, and Louis isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing. His eyes travel up the lean lines of Harry’s body, still slightly damp, to where he’s toweling off his unruly curls.

_Oh. Not a wig, then._

The creature that’s stepped out of the shower has undergone a complete metamorphosis, a far cry from the schoolgirl Louis first laid eyes on. His face, once layered in makeup to enhance his femininity, is now scrubbed clean. Harry’s chest looks solid and smooth, just a hint of baby fat rounding out the curves of his torso. There’s a fine trail of dark, curly hair dusting the swell of his stomach, disappearing beneath the edge of the towel around his waist. If Louis wasn’t smitten before, he definitely is now.

“I still smell a bit like banana,” Harry says sheepishly, tugging a hand through his tangled hair and tossing the second towel to the floor.

Mouth working faster than his brain, Louis quickly replies, “I like bananas.”

Harry pauses, fingers halfway through a section of hair. His face is blank for a moment before he raises a thick eyebrow, a little smirk playing on his lips. “You do, eh? Me too.” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious undertone in his voice, and Louis is crossing the room before he can even think twice about it.

Of course, he has no idea what to do now that he’s stood in front of the brunet, rivulets of water from Harry’s still damp hair making trails down the planes of his chest. A drop makes a path down his pec, beading off a small, perky nipple, and Louis has forgotten how to breathe.

“Wanna kiss you,” he says once his lungs demand air, the words tumbling out in a rush. He claps a hand over his mouth, startled. Yeah, he very decidedly does, but how dare his mouth announce it like that? _Smooth, Louis. No wonder the lads aren’t lining up for you._

By the grace of some higher power, though, Harry seems charmed by Louis’ nerves. His smirk grows even wider, lips parting. The tip of Harry’s tongue is caught between his teeth. “I want to kiss you too,” he says, voice even lower than usual. “Have done since the first time I saw you.”

And that’s all the encouragement either boy needs before they slam together like magnets, a clash of teeth and lips and scrabbling hands. Harry’s side of the kiss is hesitant, inexpert, but he seems eager to follow Louis’ lead. Louis lifts his hands to wind his fingers through Harry’s thick, brown hair, the other boy giving an encouraging noise in response. Harry seems uncertain of what to do with his own hands, settling for resting them at the swell of Louis’ hips. It’s messy and uncoordinated yet it’s still the hottest kiss Louis’ ever had.

When they finally pull apart, Harry’s already full lips are puffy and wet. Louis swipes his tongue over his own kiss-bruised mouth, traces of Harry’s taste still lingering there. Breathless and somewhat disoriented, he gives Harry a satisfied grin in lieu of words that might not adequately express Louis’ emotions.

“I’ve never done that before,” Harry says shyly, no trace of the flirt he had seemed before their kiss.

Louis can’t stop the laugh that slips out of him. “Haha, very funny. Give me the best snog I’ve ever had, and—” He pauses, taking in Harry’s wide, shocked eyes and the way he’s nervously chewing at his lower lip. He looks almost ashamed. “God, you’re serious,” Louis says in awe. He places a hand gently on Harry’s shoulder, trailing his fingers down the well-muscled forearm below. “You’ve never kissed anyone before?”

“I’ve kissed before!” Harry protests, crossing his arms over his bare chest. The towel shifts dangerously, and Louis is convinced a miracle must be keeping the thing in place. “I’m not a total amateur. Just not _that_ kind of kiss,” he amends.

Louis smiles fondly at the flustered boy, reaching to take Harry’s chin in his hand. Moulding his palm to Harry’s jaw, he draws the other boy’s face closer to his. “Well, in that case…” Louis murmurs, before slotting his mouth against Harry’s once more.

The kiss is slower this time, less insistent. Louis takes his time working his lips against Harry’s, and when their mouths slide open, he waits for Harry to tentatively press his tongue into his own. Louis licks back encouragingly, making pleased little sounds as Harry does something he enjoys. Louis has kissed a lot of people, but he’s never taught someone how to kiss before. It makes the kiss feel that much more special, intimate. More than that, Louis knows that every time Harry kisses anyone, from here on out, it will be Louis who showed him how. Something possessive inside of him swells at the idea, heat licking from his toes all the way up to his chest, settling in his belly. He moans into Harry’s mouth, both hands tangled in Harry’s hair now, and begins guiding the other boy to the unmade bed.

Louis knows the second the backs of Harry’s knees hit the mattress, the brunet collapsing backward into the bedding without any resistance, Louis following the downward motion. And fuck, he’s in a _bed,_ with _Harry,_ hovering over him so closely that they’re breathing the same air. Louis raises his gaze from the swollen lips to Harry’s eyes, the irises eclipsed by widened pupils. He holds Harry’s gaze for a moment, silently asking permission, until a whine from Harry encourages him to press their bodies flush together. He can feel Harry’s cock pressing into his hip through the towel— _how the fuck is that thing even still on?_

They kiss like that for a moment, chest to chest and pelvis to pelvis, before Louis tears his mouth away from Harry’s with a gasp. He grinds his hips down experimentally, Harry’s eyes fluttering shut as he tips his head back with a breathy _“oh.”_

“This okay?” Louis asks, dropping his head to mouth along the column of Harry’s throat, inhaling the citrusy smell of the hotel’s complimentary shampoo.

Harry’s breathing is erratic, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath Louis’. Someone’s heart is pounding between them, but Louis isn’t sure if it’s his or Harry’s or both. “Yeah,” Harry replies brokenly. He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing under the pale skin of his bared throat. “Don’t stop.”

It’s Louis’ turn to take a hard gulp, but he does as Harry wishes, lathing a trail of kisses from ear to collarbone. He’s been with other boys, sure, hasn’t been a virgin for a few years now, but Harry hasn’t even been snogged properly. Sighing into the final kiss he presses against Harry’s throat, Louis rolls off Harry to lie on his back next to him.

Alarmed, Harry sits up quickly, drawing his knees onto the bed so he can turn his body toward Louis. “Did I… did I do something wrong?” he stammers, wide, fretful eyes trained on Louis’ own.

Louis rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow so he can face the concerned boy. “No, Harry, you’re… _fuck,_ you’re amazing,” he says, and he means it. He’s known the lad for less than two days, and he’s already concerned with taking it slow. Past Louis would have called this Louis a twat and given him a wet willy.

“Then why did you stop?” Harry’s voice is small, uncertain, seemingly convinced he must be the reason Louis pulled away.

And Harry looks so sad that Louis can’t help reaching out with his other hand, resting it on Harry’s towel-covered knee. He tries not to let his eyes linger on the way the Magically Attached Towel is now quite obviously tented. “Oh, babe, it’s nothing you did, I swear,” Louis breathes, wondering how the fuck that sneaky endearment slipped in there. “It’s just… You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?”

Harry’s head droops, his chin nearly touching his smooth, bare chest. “No,” he admits after awhile, the shame in his voice making Louis’ heart twist painfully in his chest.

“Hey, now, don’t be like that,” Louis says soothingly, rubbing Harry’s leg without getting too close to his erection. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just… I don’t want your first, well, _anything_ to be a one-off thing in a hotel room with just anybody.”

Harry mutters something under his breath, shoulders sagging.

“Sorry? Didn’t quite catch that.” Louis gives Harry’s leg a squeeze, inadvertently causing the towel to shift, baring more of Harry’s solid thigh. _Oops._

Sitting up a little straighter and raising his chin so he can meet Louis’ eyes, Harry repeats himself. “I said, you’re not just anybody.” It’s almost defiant. “Besides, I want to. I want it to be special, who doesn’t? But I have a feeling that you’ll make sure it is.”

Louis can’t control the blood rushing to his face, suffusing his cheeks and the tips of his ears. That after such a short time, Harry thinks so highly of him… Well. People have a tendency not to see much in Louis at all, not his teachers, his classmates, not even most of his friends. It makes his breath catch in his throat, truly moved by Harry’s confidence in him. “I would. I will,” he says, trying not to let his voice shake. “I mean, if you want me to.”

The words are no sooner out of his mouth than Harry is falling on top of him, crushing their mouths together once more. “I want you to,” Harry moans against Louis’ lips, tongue darting out to lick against the seam of his mouth. “Please, Louis.”

And, well, Louis can’t say no to that. After all, Harry did ask nicely.

He rolls them so that Harry is beneath him once more, straddling Harry’s lean frame as he sits up. Slowly, deliberately, he peels away the black polo of his costume, watching Harry’s eyes devour the tanned skin of his chest. The little shit even has the audacity to lick his lips, making Louis hurriedly fling his shirt away and delve back into Harry’s embrace with a groan.

Large, uncertain hands roam across the exposed skin of Louis’ back as he picks up where he left off on Harry’s throat. He sinks his teeth into the skin of Harry’s pec before soothing the bite with a few swipes of his tongue. When he licks over Harry’s nipple, the boy beneath him gasps, arching his back as the nub hardens. Louis blows over the wet patch of skin, making the nipple draw up even more. Harry’s practically whimpering as Louis continues his assault, reaching up to roll the other nipple between his slender fingers.

“Like that, baby?” he says, pressing the words against Harry’s smooth chest.

Harry keens in response, eyes pressed tightly closed and a flush spreading down the pale flesh of his torso.

The sound urges Louis to move on, alternating kisses and bites as he inches down the writhing body beneath him. When he reaches Harry’s tummy he pauses, hooking a finger into the towel still managing to keep Harry covered. Pressing tender kisses along the terry-cloth border, he asks, “Can I—”

Not bothering to let Louis finish, Harry reaches down and jerks the towel out of the way, raising his bum to pull the fabric free. It lands in a ball next to the bed, and suddenly Louis’ face is very, very close to Harry’s erect cock.

And, _fuck,_ Harry’s not lacking in that department, that’s for sure. Frankly, Louis is marveling at how Harry managed to keep his package hidden in tight little skirt he was wearing before. Free of the towel, his erection curves up against his belly, a pearly bead already glistening at the tip. Meeting Harry’s eyes again, dark and half-closed, Louis slowly, deliberately licks away the drop of precome.

“Fuck!” Harry swears, nearly coming off the bed. One hand flies to Louis’ head, tangling in the messy red locks, while the other clenches the bedsheets. His eyes are wide as he looks down at Louis with something akin to wonder.

“Did you like that, Harry?” Louis practically purrs, keeping his mouth close enough to Harry’s dick that his breath ghosts across the wet head. “D’you want me to keep going?”

“Y- yes,” Harry grinds out, like he’s trying to keep himself from coming at the mere thought of Louis’ mouth around him.

Louis knows Harry isn’t going to last long, but he wraps his fingers tightly around the base of the other boy’s leaking cock to prolong the inevitable. Harry bucks into Louis’ hand, but Louis holds him down, putting his weight on Harry’s hips and swallowing him down in one motion. His lips slide all the way down to meet the hand firmly grasping the base, the head nudging at the back of his throat. Slowly drawing back off, Louis hollows his cheeks and presses his tongue into the sensitive underside of Harry’s shaft.

Harry is practically thrashing in the bed, a constant stream of swears and moans pouring from his lips. Louis begins to suck in earnest, moving his hand to chase his mouth up and down Harry’s cock. The other boy’s close, he can feel it, and all it takes is one more good thrust and a glance up at Harry through his eyelashes before come is filling his mouth in spurts. Gently stroking Harry through his orgasm, Louis parts his lips so Harry can see the last few streams of come hitting his tongue. Once Harry’s spent, Louis swallows, licking his lips and planting a tender kiss to the head of Harry’s slowly softening penis.

When Louis crawls back up next to Harry, he’s immediately tugged into a kiss. Harry doesn’t seem to mind that taste of his own spunk is still strong in Louis’ mouth, eagerly pressing his tongue against Louis’. The kiss is hot and heavy, and Louis is suddenly all too aware of his own neglected hard-on. He reaches between them to undo his trousers, tugging them down just enough that his cock is free. Groaning in relief as he gets a hand on himself, Louis works it over his dick, panting into Harry’s mouth as he works to bring himself to climax.

Louis is already so turned on just by getting Harry off, the mewling sounds the brunet had made fueling his arousal, that it won’t take long for him to reach his own orgasm. When Harry’s hand unexpectedly wraps around his own, stroking in tandem, he thinks he might black out from the sensation. He rocks his hips into their joined hands, letting Harry take control, and it’s no time at all before he’s spilling over both their fists. It’s his turn to collapse against the bed, pressing his dewy forehead against Harry’s and trying to catch his breath.

“That was incredible,” Harry whispers, pressing his bruised lips to Louis’ flushed cheek. “I’m so glad you were my first, Lou, couldn’t have been better.” His voice is low and rough, and knowing that he was responsible for it is enough to make Louis consider going again.

He contains himself, barely, willing his spent cock to behave as he grabs Harry’s damp towel from the floor, cleaning both their hands before pulling the boy in for a cuddle. “I’m glad too. You did so well,” he murmurs appreciatively, Harry making a pleased noise into Louis’ shoulder as he wiggles to get closer.

They lay there like that for a few moments, trading sweet kisses and tangling their limbs together, when Louis’ phone starts ringing from where he left it on the couch. “That’ll be Zayn,” he groans, burying his face in the rumpled duvet.

“We should probably get dressed,” Harry says reluctantly, trailing a large hand over Louis’ back. “We’ve kept him waiting long enough.”

After a few more drawn-out kisses, Harry nipping at his pouting lips, Louis drags himself from the bed and shuffles across the room to check his mobile. Sure enough, he has one missed call and about twenty texts from Zayn Malik.

 _sorry ! lost track of time !! down in a sec ;)_ he sends, hoping Zayn isn’t too annoyed with him. He glances back to Harry, who’s gathered up his costume from yesterday and pulling it back on. Louis pauses at the frilly garment halfway up Harry’s thighs. “And what, may I ask, are those?” he drawls, quirking an eyebrow.

Harry’s face goes beet red as he turns his head away. “They’re, uh, panties,” he says, making no move to pull the garment any higher. The panties in question are sheer, black lace in stark contrast against the pastiness of Harry’s skin. “It didn’t seem right to wear boxers under a skirt,” he explains.

Louis takes a step closer to Harry, reaching out to test the flimsy material between his fingers. He’s never had a thing for underwear, not really, but the thought of Harry’s bum covered in the lace, the sheer fabric doing nothing to hide his cock from view, is filling Louis’ head with filthy images. He imagines mouthing at Harry’s erection through the thin underwear, wondering how they would look as they filled with come.

 _Okay, Louis, get a grip._ He draws in a shuddery breath as he tugs the panties up the rest of the way, sliding them over Harry’s pert bum and gently tucking his dick into the front. His imagination was right; even soft, Harry’s penis is clearly visible through the lace.

“They look really sexy on you,” Louis says finally, giving Harry’s barely-covered bum a little squeeze as he steps away to hunt down the pieces of his own costume.

Harry’s still blushing, but as he pulls on his skirt Louis can just hear him whisper, “Thank you.”

***

Zayn is waiting for them when they come out of the lift, staying several feet apart as if he isn’t aware exactly what they were getting up to. Wonderful human that he is, he doesn’t acknowledge Louis’ wrinkled trousers or Harry’s messy hair, still damp in places.

 _“There_ you two are! It’s about time!” he cries, hurrying over to them before they can rejoin the throng of con-goers. “You missed the results of the art contest!”

Louis winces against the pang of guilt. He had completely forgotten about the contest, to be honest, but remembers Zayn saying the winners would be announced after lunchtime. And—

 _Shit._ Is it already that late? Where has the time gone? Louis is suddenly painfully aware that there are only a handful of hours left of the convention, that all too soon he and Zayn will head home and Harry will go back to wherever he’s from, and they’ll likely never see each other again.

 _Don’t be stupid, you have his number,_ he chides himself, hand curling around the phone in his pocket as if to reassure himself of the fact. But how would that work, exactly? Louis desperately needs to pass his A levels this time around; he won’t have time for a long distance relationship. And if he goes away to uni in the fall, that’s even less time, isn’t it? _It was a one-time thing, Louis. Nothing more._

Two pairs of eyes are watching him curiously, and he realizes that the conversation hasn’t ended just because he’s lost in his thoughts. “Sorry?” he says, looking from Harry to Zayn.

Zayn just shakes his head. “I asked you if you wanted to know the results.” At Louis’ blank stare, Zayn continues, “The art competition?”

Man, Louis is just nailing this best friend thing today.

“Of course!” Louis exclaims, giving Zayn an apologetic smile. “How did you do, then?”

So fucking pleased at _finally_ being asked, Zayn’s entire face lights up with joy. “I won first prize!” he crows, raising his arms and swaying in a victory shimmy.

Harry and Louis both cheer along with him, Harry clapping his hands together and bouncing on the spot and Louis tackling Zayn into a hug, pressing a sloppy kiss to his friend’s cheek.

Zayn wriggles away, laughing and wiping at his cheek. “That’s not even the best part,” he says, eyes gleaming in the light-filled lobby of the hotel.

Louis and Harry pause in their jubilation, both breathless and giddy. “What’s the best part?” Harry asks eagerly, hands still clasped together. It warms Louis’ heart to see how excited Harry is for Zayn, someone he only just met. Something tugs behind his ribcage and he feels as if each minute they have left together is something physical being stolen away from him.

Zayn just grins at the pair of them, letting the anticipation build until he can no longer take it. “The prize money! I won £100!”

Louis reclaims his hold on Zayn, tucking the other boy into his armpit and digging his knuckles into Zayn’s scalp through his artfully arranged hair. “Hear that, Harry? Lunch is on Zaynie!” Louis announces over Zayn’s stream of threats and curses. Harry just laughs along, wiping at his streaming eyes as the two friends wrestle.

And if any of the trio notice the looks of disdain they’re being given by the hotel staff, well, they don’t pay them any mind.

***

Zayn does end up buying them lunch, and the rest of the day flies by much too fast for Louis’ liking. One minute they’re looking at the day’s schedule, trying to decide whether to go see the screening of a fan parody or attend the panel on whether Avatar: The Last Airbender was actually an anime, and the next everyone around them is saying their goodbyes as the con staff takes down tables and signs.

“Well, lads, it’s been fun,” Louis says brusquely, cutting through the thick, somber silence that had befallen their little group. “But I imagine Harry has a long trip home and Zayn and I should get going as well,” he says nonchalantly, as if he doesn’t care that he and Harry will probably never see one another again. In reality, his chest hurts in a way that he’s never felt before, as if Harry leaving is literally breaking his heart. _Jesus, it was one blow job, it’s not like you’re in love with him,_ Louis tells himself, schooling his features to maintain his devil-may-care facade. Except, if circumstances were different, Louis thinks he could love Harry.

Harry’s nodding along solemnly, frowning at the floor. He scuffs the toe of his shoe against the carpeting, hands clasped behind him. “Yeah, and I still have to pack up my room.” He chances a glance up at Louis, catching him staring.

Louis looks away hurriedly, cheeks aflame, and not just at being caught. Memories of their earlier encounter resurface at the mention mention of Harry’s hotel room, glimpses of creamy skin against cotton sheets, hard lines and soft curves and the way their bodies fit together. He has to remind himself that now, when he’s about to say farewell to his curly-haired crush, is not the time to get a nostalgic boner.

Zayn holds a hand out to Harry, pulling him into a one-armed hug when the other boy accepts it. He thumps Harry’s back before he pulls away. “It was good to meet you, Harry. Louis, I’m going to go for a smoke.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively in a way he seems to think is totally inconspicuous as he inclines his head toward Harry. “I’ll bring the car ‘round if you want to meet me out front.”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says, stifling a laugh. With one more— _totally subtle, Zayn, for fuck’s sake_ —wink, Zayn turns on his heel and leaves the pair alone. Well, as alone as they can get in a hotel lobby.

Harry’s openly giggling now, one hand covering his mouth and his eyes squeezed shut. “He wasn’t being obvious at all, was he?”

Louis grins, jerking his thumb in the direction Zayn had headed. “Who, him? Picture of subtlety.” He’s not able to hold it together, and soon both of them are clutching their sides at poor Zayn’s expense.

It’s Harry who pulls himself together first, straightening up and running his fingers through his tousled curls. “I really do need to get packed, is the thing,” he says sadly, avoiding Louis’ eyes.

Louis wants desperately to pull Harry to him, snog him senseless and swear that they can make this work, but that would be a little much after less than 48 hours, wouldn’t it?

Instead, he exhales a long breath through his nose and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I know,” he replies in a small voice.

When Harry does look up, his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. He shakes his head determinedly, as if willing himself not to cry. Which is good, because if Harry were to cry there would be no stopping the tears Louis’ barely managing to hold back.

Without so much as a word, Harry closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist. A little stunned by the public display of affection, Louis twines his own arms around Harry’s shoulders and pulls him even closer, pressing his face to the side of Harry’s and breathing in the scent of Harry’s hair. It smells of hotel shampoo, same scent as before, but there’s also an undertone of sweat from their rendezvous, something purely _Harry._ And that’s how Louis will remember Harry, he thinks. Sweat and bananas. Seems rather fitting of the enigmatic boy.

Instead of waxing poetic about Harry’s smell, for crying out loud, Louis simply says, “I’m so happy I met you.”

“Me too,” Harry whispers back, voice choked with emotion. He pulls away, sniffing, and presses the briefest of kisses to Louis’ cheek. “‘Bye, Lou.” And then he’s dashing away, around the corner toward the lifts, leaving Louis feeling somehow incomplete.

“‘Bye, Harry,” Louis whispers to the empty space where Harry once stood, shivering as if all the warmth has been sucked from the room at Harry’s flight, and maybe it has. Wrapping his arms around himself, he wearily makes his way to the entrance where he knows Zayn will be waiting.

He’s silent the entire way home, head leaned against the cool glass of the passenger side window, and Zayn lets him be. The drive home only takes half an hour in traffic, but to Louis it already feels like a lifetime ago that he last saw Harry. His hand twitches where it’s resting on his thigh, as if aching to text Harry one last time, but what’s the point? _They call them one-night stands for a reason, don’t they?_

When Zayn drops him off at home, Louis goes straight to his room and falls into bed. The duvet is dark blue, not cream, and it shouldn’t remind him of Harry, but it does. Not even bothering to change, Louis pulls the cover over himself and cries into it, clutching it to his chest until his sobs ease into ragged breaths, before falling into a fitful sleep.

***

The first day of second term should feel a little more momentous to Louis, but it doesn’t. After all, he’s done this once before. He musters all the energy he can manage to drag himself from bed. He’s just finished helping his little sisters find their backpacks when he hears a familiar horn sounding from the driveway.

“‘Bye Mum! ‘Bye girls!” he shouts as he grabs his coat and messenger bag, planting a hurried kiss on his mum’s cheek as he rushes out to catch his ride.

Zayn’s beat-up black car is idling in the drive, the driver’s side window cracked to allow a stream of smoke to curl out into the crisp morning air. Louis pulls open the passenger door, the hinges groaning against the motion, and pours himself into the cracked leather of the bucket seat.

“Long time, no see,” he says, placing his chilly hands directly over one of the vents in the dash weakly pumping out warm air. That was one of the perks of Zayn picking him up every morning—the car was already heated by the time Louis got in.

Zayn flicks the butt of his cigarette out the window, rolling it up before giving Louis a tired look. “‘S too early, Lou,” he says wearily before putting the car in reverse, backing out onto the quiet street and driving them toward their school.

Louis takes advantage of the drive to smooth out his blazer and trousers. They’re slightly more wrinkled than they should be from not being properly put away after their last washing at the end of last term, but at least he managed to find all the components of his uniform, which he is counting as a win today.

Zayn pulls into his usual spot in the student car park, the lot already packed with other cars. As he pulls the key from the ignition, Zayn heaves a sigh and fumbles for his backpack in the backseat. “Here we go again,” he mumbles tiredly.

Shouldering his own bag as he unfolds himself from the vehicle, Louis slams the dented door with a _bang._ “Hopefully the last time for me,” he jokes, but Zayn’s answer of a half-smile shows that he knows Louis really does want to succeed this time. It had been about this time last year when his addictions had gotten the worst of him, barely showing up for class second term and usually high when he did. Zayn had been the one to bring Louis to his senses, holding the older boy as he shook after taking something in the boys’ toilets. Zayn who had held a damp towel to Louis’ clammy forehead, whispering reassurances and promising he’d get him help. And Louis had tried so, so hard to bounce back, to finish the term and get on with his life, but it simply wasn’t in the cards.

But first term is done, and he’s really doing it this time. Even better, with he and Zayn in the same year now, they’re free to make grand plans of rooming together at uni, or backpacking across Europe during a gap year, or opening a record shop somewhere near the sea.

He smiles back at Zayn, softer this time, more genuine, and together they join the throng of uniformed students filing into the building. Louis thinks he sees something out of the corner of his eye as he steps through the entryway, a flash of a laughing mouth and tousled curls, but when he glances again the apparition is gone. Gripping the strap of his backpack more tightly, he sighs sadly and follows Zayn through the familiar corridors toward registration.

He was able to give up drugs. Certainly he’ll be able to get over Harry Styles.

***

The day goes by rather quickly, and it’s lunchtime before Louis realizes. His last lesson before lunch, double Drama Studies, is easily his favorite subject, so he’s in a great mood when he finally finds Zayn sitting at their usual table in the cafeteria. Zayn is eating something from a Tupperware container, probably some of his mum’s excellent cooking. Louis can tell Zayn’s just come from Art by the paint flecking his friend’s hands.

Louis flops down heavily across from Zayn, setting his own lunch on the cafeteria table. “You need to have me over to yours soon,” Louis says matter-of-factly, unwrapping the lackluster sandwich he’d brought from home. “I miss your Mum’s chicken korma.”

“I promise I’ll tell you next time she makes it,” Zayn laughs, stealing Louis’ bag of crisps and tearing it open. “Good day so far?”

Louis tells Zayn about the spring production his drama class is working on, snatching back his crisps before the other boy can polish off the bag. He’s just about to ask about Zayn’s art projects for the semester when he hears a familiar bark of laughter above the din filling the cafeteria.

Zayn must notice the way Louis stills, eyes wide, because he slowly lowers his fork and asks, “Lou? All right, mate?”

And Louis is willing to brush it off, chalk it up to wishful thinking, when the laugh rings out again. Zayn hears it too this time, eyebrows arching in surprise, and Louis slowly turns around to look for the source of the sound.

There, a couple tables over, is Harry Styles.

He’s sitting with a blond boy in lower sixth, Neal or Niles or something, hands moving around wildly as he talks. Louis can’t help but stare at the way the school blazer accentuates the broadness of Harry’s back, his hair carefully styled but missing the yellow ribbon. His face scrunches up at something the blond says, laughing loudly.

“Is that _Harry?”_ Zayn asks incredulously, and Louis nods without taking his eyes off the brunet.

He hadn’t been hallucinating after all; that really had been Harry among the crowd earlier. His eyes go wide as what’s-his-name notices him staring, and Louis abruptly turns around in his seat.

“Did you know he goes here?” Louis hisses, ducking his head in case the blond decides to point him out to Harry.

Zayn follows Louis’ lead, ducking down as well. “No, I thought he lived somewhere else! Why else would he have stayed at the hotel?” He narrows his eyes. “You’re the one who shagged him, didn’t you ask where he was from?”

“We didn’t shag!” Louis retorts. “And no, I didn’t ask. I didn’t think I’d see him again, let alone at my bloody school the next day!”

Louis slowly straightens up, craning his neck to see over the rows of students separating their table from Harry’s. It’s empty now, both boys who had been sat there nowhere to be seen.

Feeling somewhat relieved that he’d managed to avoid what might have been a potentially awkward encounter, Louis turns back to Zayn with a smirk on his face. “Crisis averted.” His face falls when he notices the incredulous look he’s receiving from Zayn. “What?” he asks.

“What the fuck was that? You were pining over him the entire way home yesterday. Why would you avoid him now you’ve found him again?” Zayn lifts his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. “You don’t make any sense sometimes, Lou.”

Louis furrows his brows, mouth twisting to one side. “It’s not that simple, Zayn. It was supposed to be a one-off, yeah? This complicates things. I don’t know what the rules are for approaching your one-night stands if you run into them in public.”

Zayn shrugs as he snaps the lid back onto his empty Tupperware. “Didn’t seem like you wanted it to be a one-off, ‘s all,” Zayn says simply.

As usual, he’s right. More than anything, Louis had wanted to dash across the cafeteria and pull Harry into a hug, press a hundred kisses to his face, and never let him out of his sight again. But it wasn’t that simple. Clearly Harry has his reasons for not letting on that he lives in Doncaster, and Louis is going to do his damndest to respect that.

 _Was it something I did?_ he wonders as he follows Zayn from the cafeteria, chucking the empty crisp bag into the bin on the way out. It didn’t make sense. He really thought they’d had a connection. Why wouldn’t Harry want to see him again if they lived close enough to go to the same school?

Louis bids Zayn goodbye once it’s time for their next lesson. He has a double free period after lunch, and while normally he’d want to go kick a ball around on the football pitch, it’s still too cold for that. Instead he finds his way to the library, hoping the IT room isn’t occupied so maybe he can play some computer games.

He receives a scowl from the librarian when he swears upon reaching the IT room, finding it is indeed occupied for the first half of his free period. Ah, well. Accepting his fate, Louis decides to find somewhere secluded to sit where he can sneakily take a nap.

He’s located the perfect spot, a small table near the north corner of the library, hidden from view by shelves. The reference books are kept in this section—dictionaries and encyclopedias—so it’s very unlikely he’ll be disturbed on the first day of lessons.

He’s just crossed his arms on the desk and let his forehead drop onto them when he hears a familiar voice on the other side of the shelves.

“No, everyone’s been really friendly here so far, it’s been nice,” Harry’s voice comes crawling through the quiet of the library, deep and soothing. Louis shifts his chair closer to the shelf, leaning slightly so he can eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Well, there’re some real cunts here too,” another voice, accented with an Irish brogue, replies. “Just don’t caught up with the wrong crowd, all right?”

There’s a beat of silence. “You’re the one showing me around, Niall. Who is it you think I should avoid?” Niall. That must be the blond’s name. Louis was close, at least. Harry sounds like he’s asking out of amusement instead of any real concern, but Niall ploughs ahead anyway.

“There are just some rough lads here, that’s all. There’s a group of blokes in upper sixth who party too hard, you know? One of them is even having to repeat his A levels; he was high so often that he failed last year. I heard he’ll take anything and try to get you to do the same.” Niall’s disapproval is evident in his tone.

Louis’ chest feels heavy as he listens in. There’s only one person repeating upper sixth this year, and it’s him. He hopes Niall doesn’t continue, doesn’t ruin any chance he may have with Harry. He’s come a long way from the person he was a year ago, and he is rather proud of himself, or was. He hadn’t realized how little everyone else thought of him, though. That he was a story passed around like a tabloid, a warning on the lips of his peers.

“Who’s that, then?” Harry asks curiously. Louis can just picture him leaning across the table while Niall talks, his large green eyes rapt as he hears about the fucked up sixth form failure. Louis covers his face in his hands, knowing exactly what’s coming next, bracing himself against the blow.

“Louis Tomlinson.”

Niall’s voice almost seems to echo in the silence, Louis’ name sliding off his tongue like a bad taste in the Irish boy’s mouth. Louis thinks his heart stands still for a moment, but only a moment before it’s beating so loudly he’s sure that Niall and Harry must hear it.

“Oh.”

And that’s all Harry says in reply. Just ‘oh.’ After that their conversation turns to football, and Louis desperately tries to ignore the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. If Niall could see him now, Dangerous Addict Louis Tomlinson, trying not to cry alone in a dusty corner of the library, would he still warn incoming students to stay away? How many others have received the same admonition, told to protect themselves lest Louis try to give them something?

It isn’t fair. He worked so, so hard to get his life together, to clean up his act and do well in school. A surge of renewed affection for Zayn washes over him, Louis is more thankful than ever that he’s managed to hold onto someone through all of this. For all he knows, Zayn is the only person in school who doesn’t share Niall’s opinion of him.

Louis is so lost in his melancholy that by the time he hears chairs scrape the floor as they’re pushed away from the table, it’s too late to hide. Moments later a figure rounds the corner of the bookshelf and stops dead in his tracks.

Harry. Of course it’s Harry. He looks so out of place here, away from the bubble of the convention. He’s too vibrant, like a spot of colour in the dull wash of Louis’ day-to-day life. And now he’s standing there, mouth hanging open, as his eyes lock onto Louis’.

“L-Louis,” he stammers, arms clutched tightly around the bookbag he’s holding to his chest. “I didn’t know you went to school here,” he says in a rush, pale cheeks flooding with colour.

Schooling his features into a steady calm, Louis pushes his own chair back from the table and stands. He wants to explain to Harry, needs to tell him that Niall’s got it all wrong, but he doesn’t think he can handle rejection right now. So instead, he says, “Yeah, I go here. And I think you’ve just been warned not to associate with me, so I’ll be off.”

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but Louis is already stalking out of the library and down the corridor, trying to hide his wet cheeks from everyone he passes.

***

When Louis’ last lesson of the day lets out early, he decides to wait for Zayn out in the car park. The sooner he can get away from the building, Harry’s presence following him like a ghost ready to appear at any moment, the better.

Once he’s reached the vehicle he leans against it, pulling out his mobile to let Zayn know where he’ll be. He’s just pressed the send key when a new notification pops up on the screen.

It’s a text.

From Harry.

_Shit._

Louis’ finger hovers over the screen, hesitant to open the message. He braces himself for the worst, for Harry saying he regrets their time together and hopes never to see Louis again. _Just open it, you twat,_ he tells himself finally, the pad of his finger making contact with the screen.

The message is short, just three little words sitting so innocently in his inbox.

_can we talk?_

Louis doesn’t know what to say. Surely Harry just wants to berate him in person, rather than through text. Either way, it isn’t a conversation Louis possesses the energy to have right now.

 _i’m terribly busy at the moment ! Sorry !!_ he replies, sending the text before he can think about it too much. Should he have been meaner? Maybe added a frowny face to avoid hurting Harry’s feelings?

“You don’t look terribly busy.”

The familiar voice behind him makes Louis jump, pushing himself off the car to spin around.

Sure enough, Harry is standing just on the other side of Zayn’s battered Toyota. His hands are shoved in his pockets, bookbag hanging off one shoulder. He’s toeing at the ground, scuffing the polished black of his shoes. His eyes are focused intently downward, and he looks… ashamed, almost.

Louis wants to close the distance between them, tilt Harry’s head back, give the brunet a reason to smile again. Instead, he crosses his arms over his unbuttoned blazer and leans his weight to one side, popping out a hip. “You probably shouldn’t be seen with me, Harry,” he says coolly. “I wouldn’t want people to start talking shit about you as well.”

“Is any of it true?” Harry asks, the tone of his voice convincing Louis that this is it, this is the moment their fate is sealed. He’ll tell Harry the truth and the other boy will want nothing to do with someone as pathetic as Louis.

His face still carefully schooled in a neutral expression, Louis nods. “Yeah. Most of it, anyway. I got addicted to popping pills and stopped doing my coursework. But I never, ever gave anything to anyone else.” His brows furrow, saddened at the thought of leading someone down the same path he’d been on. “I would never.”

Harry lifts his head then, smiling for the first time since their goodbye at the convention. He meets Louis’ eyes, his own even greener in the afternoon sun than they had been under the flourescent lighting of the hotel. “I’m really proud of you,” he says softly.

 _Erm. What?_ That certainly isn’t the reply Louis was expecting. “You– you don’t hate me then? For not telling you? For being the kind of person who would take drugs?” His heart is pounding a mad cadence in his chest, but he doesn’t dare get his hopes up just yet. Sweet, innocent, good people like Harry don’t fall for people like Louis, they just don’t.

Harry shakes his head, looking startled that Louis would even suggest such a thing. “Never. You’re here, aren’t you? You’re trying your best, and that’s what matters, in the end.” He takes a step closer to Louis, close enough that Louis can reach out and touch him if he dares. He doesn’t dare, too afraid to ruin whatever this is between them, send Harry running the opposite direction. Maybe Harry just wants to be friends.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to school here?” Louis asks, still marveling at the sight of Harry in his school uniform, now partly hidden by a black peacoat, all broad shoulders and clean lines.

Harry flinches at the query, looking proper guilty. “I wondered when that question was coming. Erm, I just transferred here, actually. My family moved from Cheshire. I didn’t know which school you went to.” Harry’s wringing his hands, the movement of his long, slender fingers mesmerizing. “Actually, I thought you were older, in uni,” he admits. “Zayn too. We never got around to talking about our ages.”

And… huh. They hadn’t, had they? Likewise, Louis had just assumed that Harry was old enough to be in a hotel by himself, and left it at that. Which, speaking of…

“Wait a minute,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes. “How did you check into the hotel if you’re still in lower sixth? That makes you, what, sixteen?”

“Seventeen next month,” Harry confirms. “My mum checked me in, dropped me off and then picked me up. She wanted to have a weekend to herself while they finished moving everything into our new house.” His face falls as he meets Louis’ gaze again. “I didn’t even think that we’d end up going to the same school, Louis, or I would have told you.”

It is rather strange that of all the schools in Doncaster, Harry ends up at the same one as Louis. It’s like there is some unseen force nudging them together, something that had awakened the moment Louis laid eyes on Harry amongst the sea of people at the convention.

He doesn’t believe in destiny, but something about all of this feels terribly important.

“Would you have still wanted to… you know,” Louis finishes lamely, suddenly very aware of the intimacy of their brief history, and the fact that he will probably see Harry in the corridors every day and wonder if he’s got something lacy on underneath his trousers.

Harry worries at his lower lip as if he’s thinking it over, unsure of what to say. Louis swallows hard past the lump in his throat. _This is it. This is the part where he tells you it was a mistake._

“I’m even more glad that we did,” Harry says finally, the pale skin of his face darkening with a sudden flush.

Louis immediately begins stammering out an apology. “I’m sorry, I should have insisted we stopped, I shouldn’t have—” He grinds to a halt once Harry’s words register. “You are?” he asks, incredulous.

Nodding, Harry wraps his arms tightly around himself, making himself seem small. “I’m so glad it was you, Louis. I can’t imagine my first time with anyone else.” His smile is small, timid, and absolutely endearing. “I knew you’d make it special.”

That’s all it takes to shatter whatever walls Louis had starting putting up. He reaches out and clutches Harry to him, holding the other boy tightly as he buries his face in Harry’s hair. He no longer smells like the hotel shampoo, the citrus replaced with something else—eucalyptus, maybe?—but the underlying scent, the one that’s simply _Harry,_ is still there.

Harry’s hugging him back every last bit as hard, burrowing his cold nose against Louis’ neck. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he whispers to the skin under Louis’ ear.

“So what does this mean?” Louis asks, running his hands down Harry’s back, feeling the muscles there even through the layers of clothing. He pulls away to hold Harry at arm’s length, wanting to be face-to-face for this conversation. Because suddenly it’s real, there is a chance for them to be something more, and damn if Louis isn’t starting to feel a little hopeful. “What are we, then?”

Harry laughs. “We’re not lovers, but more than friends,” he sings, and Louis recognises the line from a Carly Rae Jepsen song.

Louis just shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re the most baffling person I’ve ever met,” he says honestly. “And, for what it’s worth, I’d definitely like to continue being more than friends.”

The smile that spreads over Harry’s wide features is bright enough to put the sun to shame, and Louis can’t help but beam right back. “I’d like that too, Lou,” Harry replies giddily.

Harry doesn’t stop smiling when Louis gently takes the boy’s face in his hands. He doesn’t stop smiling when Louis lightly dips a finger into the hollow of his dimple. If possible, he smiles even more when Louis finally presses their mouths together, keeping the kiss tender and sweet, a promise that this is something more than a teenage fling at a convention.

_“Ahem.”_

The sound of someone clearing their throat makes the pair spring apart, Louis wiping his slick mouth off on the sleeve of his jacket. Zayn, finally out of class for the day, is looking between the two boys with his car keys dangling from his hand. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’d like to get home, if you two don’t mind?” His tone is teasing and light, eyes dancing with merriment at the sight of Harry and Louis quite literally kissing and making up.

They grin at each other sheepishly before Louis slides an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Do you think we can give Harry here a ride home?” Turning to Harry, he adds: “If you want one, of course.”

Harry leans into Louis’ touch, their bodies fitting neatly together. “Yeah, okay,” he replies, still a touch breathless from the kiss. “I’d like that a lot.”

With that, all three of them pile into Zayn’s cozy two-door, Louis opting to climb into the back seat to sit with Harry. Zayn beams at them in the rearview mirror the entire drive, looking every bit the proud parent escorting his kids to the school dance. Louis pulls faces right back at him, which makes Harry giggle adoringly as he laces their fingers together.

Once they reach Harry’s, a mid-terrace brick house, Louis follows Harry out of the car to give him one more hug before they part. “Text me, okay?” he says, gently moving a curl out of the way so he can press a kiss to Harry’s temple.

“Of course,” Harry replies, bussing Louis’ lips with his own as the older boy pulls away. “G’night, Louis.” With a last wave to Zayn, Harry practically skips up the walk and disappears behind the large front door.

Zayn is grinning like mad when Louis gets into the passenger seat, fastening his safety belt. “Don’t start with me, Malik.”

The raven-haired boy just shakes his head as he shifts the car into drive and pulls back out onto the street. “Bet you’re glad I made you come to the con with me,” he says, unbearably pleased with himself.

For once in his life, Louis doesn’t have a sharp retort lined up. In fact, not that he’ll ever admit this to Zayn, part of him is even thinking ahead to next year, imagining him and Harry dressing in coordinating costumes, staying at the hotel for old time’s sake, reliving the whirlwind of a weekend that brought them together in the first place.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, Harry texting him even though it’s been only a few minutes since they dropped him off.

_can’t wait to see you at school tomorrow .xx_

Louis can feel Zayn smirk at him as he grins at the screen of his mobile, but he doesn’t care.

_See you then, my little butterfly εїз_

Maybe it’s sappy, and maybe Louis is far too gone for a boy he met just two days prior, but he can’t bring himself to care. For the first time in his life, he’s excited about going to school the next day, to have lunch with Harry, maybe even convince that Niall bloke that he doesn’t deserve quite the foul reputation he’s got currently.

And maybe he has his mum pick up some banana custard at Tesco for his lunches, using the excuse that he needs the variety. What can he say? Louis' found himself craving it for some reason.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope that you liked it, especially ishiphappy. You definitely gave a challenge, and I hope this fic is everything you hoped it would be. ^_^ 
> 
> Feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com)! The rebloggable post for this fic is [here](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/115791932816/happened-so-fast-by-kiwikero-icanhazzalou).
> 
> Also, if anyone's curious, the song Harry's dancing to is [Butterfly](http://youtu.be/T9sz9QzsWXc) by smile.dk. Other references:
> 
> [Louis](http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130901021017/free-anime/images/b/bd/Rin_Matsuoka_Character_Song.png) and [Zayn's](http://static2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130930191628/free-anime/images/5/5e/Episode_12_24.jpg%22) costumes
> 
> [Harry's day one costume](http://static.tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pub/images/HaruhiSuzumiya.jpg)
> 
> [Harry's day two costume](http://list.beareyes.com.cn/2/lib/200710/16/278/24.jpg)


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